I've decided that being old is a state of mind -- and my mind is apparently quite aged. I went to my cousin's wedding this weekend, and it was a lovely affair. Stacey was so beautiful and glowing, and Logan alternated between teary adoration and button popping glee. I am truly so happy for them. Personally, however, I couldn't get caught up in the fairy tale. I kept thinking of my own wedding and the long road since, of the wide stretch between what little girls dream of and what real life is all about. Don't get me wrong. I firmly believe in marriage. I think healthy marriages and families are the bedrock of a strong society. But ... I don't know what I'm trying to say tonight. I guess only that sometimes the little girl in me still wants to believe in fairy tales. And I feel very old when I have to remind that little girl that there is no such thing.
One part of the wedding, however, got me at my core. Logan danced with his mother. Then he danced with his other mother. See, Logan is adopted. He found his birth mother recently, and she was there to see him start his own life, to dance with him at his wedding. As they were up on stage, just the two of them, she took his face in her hands and they both cried. I can only imagine how she must have felt all those years, wondering where her baby was, if he was happy, if she had done the right thing. What feelings must have been rushing through her heart as she danced with her son? Because mother love ... well, it trumps all else. While weddings may have lost their sparkle to me, a dance between a mother and her son, years of pain and regret set aside, the future open to them... now that stirs my soul.
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